My Blue Heaven
by XmidnightxsecretsX
Summary: Dean/Sam Set in the 1920s. The summery is too long for this space, so it is inside!


Title: My Blue Heaven

Author: venuswhispers

Beta: Don't have one yet!

Word count: 7,561

Pairing: Dean/Sam, but they aren't brothers, implied Dean/Cassie

Warnings: Slash, language, bossybottom!sam

A/N: Oh my… this turned out much longer then I thought it would! At first, I thought about just making this a PWP, but it morphed in something much bigger. O, plot bunnies; too cute to turn away, too twisted and evil to hide from… *cough* anyway, just so you guys and gals know, some of my facts are probably wrong. I didn't get a lot of time to do research. But ENJOY!

Summary: Dean is ready to end his police work for good, but he needs to complete one more job before retiring. He is quickly dragged down into the dark world of bootlegging and speak-easies when he meets the handsome and magnetic Sam, the singer working for Adam James, the man Dean has to take down before ending his career. How can Dean juggle his growing attraction for Sam, while trying to take down the most powerful and dangerous bootlegger in Chicago?

…

My Blue Heaven

1927

When Dean Winchester was 23, with only one year on the force under his belt, he knew without a doubt that he wanted to retire… That was five years ago.

It wasn't that Dean had belated realized that this wasn't the job for him, not at all. It was the things he had seen and tried to solve that left him screaming and sweating late into the night; gruesome images flitting across his brain of corpses begging him to help solve their murders. Dean could honestly say that he had never experienced anything quite like that in his life.

Anyone, including Dean himself, would say that the man had been sheltered as he grew up in the small town of Jefferson, Pennsylvania. Both his mother and father had hovered closely over his development, watching as he viciously fought to become his own man. Dean's father, John, had been an avid hunter, but Dean had never been allowed to follow in his footsteps. In fact, it wasn't until Dean joined the police force that he held a gun for the first time.

In an act of defiance growing up, Dean had begun smoking at the tender age of 14. But much to his chagrin, neither of his parents batted an eye to his proclamation. He would have turned to booze, sucking back as much whisky or rum as his liver could hold, but his first experiment with the stuff had been less than desirable, leaving him with a throbbing head and fuzzy mouth. He only dragged out the alcohol in the middle of a particularly bad night, curling up into a ball on his bed, bottle of bootlegged whisky resting against his forehead.

Dean couldn't explain to anyone where the sudden itch came from. But one day… there it was, and in a matter of hours, Dean had packed his life into a small, age-beaten suitcase and was boarding a transit bus headed for Chicago. After arriving to the Windy City, Dean quickly procured himself an apartment and had signed up to join the police.

Since then, Dean had been plagued by images of mutilated bodies and memories of bloody shoot-outs. It had been a slight reprieve when Captain Singer promoted him to the head of the prohibition department.

"With this 'dry' movement in full swing," Singer had started in his gruff voice, "we need good and dependable men like you." He had patted Dean on the back and promptly showed him to his new office.

Dean sat at his desk, staring blankly at the report spread out in front of him. He ran a hand through his brutally short, dusky blonde hair and sighed. The case had gone nowhere, fast. Two months had passed and Dean still found himself stuck in the same predicament; staring at the sheets of paper spread out on his desk with no new leads or clues.

With a frustrated growl, he tugged open the top drawer of the mahogany desk and pulled out a book of matches and carton of cigarettes. He moved without thinking; quickly pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. He took a deep drag and blew out the cloud of smoke, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his forehead.

There was a gentle knock on his office door, and without thinking, he wearily told whoever it was to come in. The door opened a crack and his partner, Jimmy Castiel, slipped in. Dean and Jimmy, more commonly known as Cas around the precinct, had met not long after Dean's promotion. In a sense, Jimmy had become the older, no-nonsense, brother Dean never had. They became close enough that, on the very bad days, when the memories and pictures were at their worst, Dean could manage to whisper out what he was seeing; Jimmy would talk him through it and pat his shoulder encouragingly.

Cas looked at his partner and shook his head with a frown.

"Dean," he sighed in frustration. No one else in the offices, not even the Captain, could blame Jimmy for his frustration. He had watched Dean slowly become obsessed with ending his career. And far be it from him to deny Dean his right, but he knew that this last case was a dead end.

"Cas… don't," Dean had all but whined, "not right now. _Please._" He leaned forward and propped his elbows on the mess of loose-leaf paper covering the surface of his desk, cigarette dangling precariously from between his fingers.

Jimmy sat down in one of the visitors chairs angled in front of his partner's desk. He crossed his legs and studied the frazzled man to whom he had become family.

"Dean, this isn't doing you any good."

"This is my last case, Cas. _The last one." _Dean flinched at the desperate tone his voice had taken.

Jimmy sighed and took off his tan fedora, setting it in his lap. "It's been two months, Dean. You haven't gotten any new leads," he raised his hand to cut off the response Dean was about to throw at him. "No clues. If you continue at this rate, you'll die before you get the chance to retire."

Dean sighed, unable to respond. Cas had a point. He had hit a brick wall in the case, and most of the time, he found himself grasping at straws.

"Look," Cas started quickly, "how 'bout you take a break. Just for a few days. You can find yourself a nice gal and go out dancing."

There was quiet as Dean thought it over, not having the heart to turn down his good friend.

"When was the last time you found a nice gal, went for dinner?"

_Four years and two months_, Dean's mind supplied. And that had been with Cassie, the beautiful caramel colored flapper girl. They had hit it off immediately, but Dean had always seen her as a sister, despite their frequent, and often disastrous, coupling. In the end, they had drifted apart, staying in touch through telegram. But about five months ago, after a hard day at work, he had been utterly surprised to see her standing outside his door.

She looked good, have traded her flapper dress for more modest garb. They had sat and she filled him in on the happenings he had missed.

"I even found myself a good, supportive man. He sells automobiles in New York."

It was then that he had seen the delicate gold band on the third finger of her left hand. He had hugged her and said he was happy. And he was; she deserved this. She left him with the image of her bright smile as she waved goodbye.

Dean shook his head, rubbing his eyes with his left hand. Blinking rapidly, he looked up to see Cas smiling at him.

"You know, my church is throwing together a little party, of sorts. There's a good chance that you'll find yourself a sweet Christian gal there. That's where I met Mary." Dean mind flitted to an image of a short blonde woman he had only met once; Jimmy Castiel's wife, Mary Evans-Castiel.

Dean leaned back in his chair, the old wood creaking under his weight. He didn't know how to tell Jimmy that it wasn't a _gal_ that he was looking for. In fact, despite the respect and affection he felt for his partner, he would never be able to tell his greatest-and really his _only_- friend that he was homosexual. It was very much illegal to commit sodomy, and he really wasn't eager to wager jail time for a quick fling with a handsome, well-built _man_.

Luckily, a quiet knock on his office door saved him from answering.

"It's open."

A young man shuffled in, blonde head bowed in a show of respect. Dean recognized him quickly as a new recruit.

"What do you need, son?" Jimmy asked the boy.

The young man shuffled farther into the room. "The Captain needs to see the two of you. He says it's urgent."

"We'll be right there," Dean said, standing up slowly from his chair, his right hip cracking anyway. He rubbed the tender spot and followed the boy and Cas into the hall, pausing to grab his hat and dark trench coat.

When they reached the stairs that lead to the upper offices, the recruit left the older detectives to return to his job. Dean clapped Jimmy on the shoulder and took the stairs two at a time, quickening his pace when he heard the rising din of conversation at the end of the hall. He reached the door and yanked it open, stepping in with Jimmy at his heels.

Dean nodded to his colleagues and joined the circle they had created around the Captain's desk. Captain Singer was standing at the head, arms folded behind his back. He cleared his throat.

"As you boys know, we've recently gotten leads about a new bootlegger that's moved into the center of the city." There were some murmurs of discontent. From what they'd heard, the speak-easy the man was using wasn't very far from the precinct.

"I know. I'm not happy about this, either," Captain Singer all but growled. "But don't worry; we're moving in as quickly as we can." The Captain beckoned to Dean, and he moved around the desk to stand beside Singer.

Bobby Singer clapped Dean's back and smiled gently him. "I'm putting Dean here in charge of the case, so if you have any questions, go right to him."

Dean sputtered for a moment. Bobby had never told him about this. There were a few more moments where Captain Singer took out a map of Chicago and pointed to the general locations that the bootlegger, Adam Jones, could possibly be found.

Captain Singer dismissed the group, Cas hanging back by the door, waiting for Dean. Dean went to leave but Bobby placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Sorry, Jimmy, but I gotta talk to your partner."

Jimmy nodded, casting a quick glance at Dean, before backing out of the room, closing the door behind him.

There was a sigh as Bobby slumped in his chair. Dean paused a moment before sitting in a visitor's chair. Bobby studied the man's movements as he sat.

"You're the best, most dedicated detective I have." Dean looked up quickly to see Bobby smiling at him. "That's why I chose you to lead the team."

Dean bit his full bottom lip, guilt gnawing at him.

"This will be my last case, you know that, right?"

Bobby nodded solemnly. "That's why I want you to go out with a bang."

Dean smiled shakily at him.

"Thanks for that."

"Not a problem. But tonight, I need you to go undercover."

…

Dean straightened his vest before sitting at the shining bar. He ran his hands over the wood as he cleared his throat. The bartender looked up from the glass he was cleaning and glared at Dean.

"What'll ya have?" he asked pleasantly enough.

Dean coughed and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Water."

The bartender corked an eyebrow and leaned on the bar, only a foot away from Dean's face.

"No one that comes here asks for water, sir. So either you're a cop, or you need to get your ass out of here."

Dean narrowed his green eyes.

"I ain't a cop," he seethed, "and I don't very much appreciate you say'n so." The bartender moved back a bit. "I'm waiting for someone, and I don't want to be drunk when they get here."

The man moved back completely.

"Well, we only got spirits, so you're shit outa luck, there."

Dean shrugged and got down from the bar stool. He stood uncertainly for a moment before moving through the crowded tables, finding an empty one and sitting down. He hunched his shoulders, feeling helplessly lonely in the crowded room. He looked around, frown worsening with every happy, laughing couple he saw. He sighed and set his hat on the table, watching in interest as the lights on the near-by stage turned on.

The noise slowly quieted as a man stepped onto the stage. Dean's throat tightened as he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a photograph. He glanced between the paper in his hand and the man on stage, slowly reaching for his gun. This was his chance, and he was going to take it.

"Welcome to my fine establishment, everyone." Adam's voice was warm as opened his arms and smiled at the alcoholics who cheered for him

"As you all know, today is a special day," he paused before shaking his head. "But let's not dally. Please welcome the man who needs no introduction." Adam bowed and walked off stage.

Dean cursed under his breath and shoved the gun back into its holster. He wearily watched the stage curtains parted, revealing a complete band setting up to play. A tall man was talking to a clarinet player, his back to the crowd.

Dean watched as the man ran long, thin fingers through his brown hair. He winced as a roar started to build in to crowd of alcoholics.

The man suddenly turned with a smile, walking toward the microphone. Dean lost his breath, fingers reaching up to loosen his tie. He had to look away from the stunning man before he did something stupid.

He turned in the opposite direction of the stage, poking a very drunk man in the shoulder. The guy's head bobbled Dean's way, lips slurring out a 'what'.

"Who's the guy on stage?"

The drunk laughed at him, the overpowering stench of whiskey making Dean wince.

"That's Sam," the man slurred. "He sings here once a week."

The man's head bobbled and he turned to look at the stage. Music had started; a siren's call that made Dean turn around.

Sam was singing a fast song, making couples stumble around as they tried to Charleston. But Dean was eager to jump up and dance. In fact, he found himself stuck to his chair, listening as Sam's deep voice weaved through melodies, full lips shaping the words in such an attractive way.

Dean stared as Sam's long lashes brushed his cheeks; watching as Sam closed his hazel eyes on long notes, seeming to worship the music.

Sam sang only fast songs for the most part, making Dean's heart beat in time with the music. But when Sam stopped, Dean sighed longingly, wishing he'd start again.

Sam smiled at the group.

"Sorry guys and gals, but this is my last song of the night."

Shouts of disappointment rang out from the alcoholics, and Dean felt like joining them. He wanted the listen to Sam's deep, sexy voice all night. His nether regions seemed to agree the most, throbbing in the tight confines of Dean's knitted trousers.

Sam laughed at the shouts, voice going deeper and making Dean shudder.

The band started up again and Sam sang. It was a slow song this time, full of longing and want. Dean's breath hitched; the mood of the song matched his thoughts exactly.

When the music ended for good Dean stood and walked to the door, deciding to tail Sam to wherever he lived.

Part of him knew that he was doing this for purely selfish reasons.

The other part didn't rightly give a shit.

…

Sam, it turned out, lived in a very nice neighborhood. After the show, he walked to a pharmacy, green grocer and then home. The arches of Dean's feet were throbbing as bad as his dick by the time he reached Sam's modest home.

Sam walked onto the porch as Dean huddled in the bushes lining the sidewalk. Sam reached for the door knob, but it seemed to be a moot point, because at that moment, the door flung open and a half dressed man stepped out.

From the soft light leaking from the open door, Dean saw Sam's face pinch.

"I told you not to come here again, Charlie," Sam's deep voice carried a soft threat; Dean shivered.

"You know I had to come back," the man replied leaning close to caress Sam's chest. "We have unfinished business." Sam pushed his hand away and moved around him, walking into the house.

"Leave me alone, Charlie."

The door closed behind the man, cloaking the street in darkness. Dean sighed, plopping down onto the moist ground and frowning at his crotch. Despite the long journey there, his… _problem_ had stubbornly refused to go away.

Faintly, Dean heard a bang come from Sam's house. He turned, peering over the hedges to see the front door fling open, the Charlie guy stumbling out and falling onto the porch.

Sam stepped out a second later, wearing a housecoat, his arms crossed loosely in front of him.

"You son of a bitch!" the man seethed slowly picking himself up and glaring at Sam.

"I told you to leave," Sam replied calmly with a shrug.

"I love you! How can you do this to me?"

Sam seemed to sigh as he waved a hand.

"You disgust me. Now get off my porch."

Dean chose that moment to stand and begin walking toward the house. If worse came to worse, he had a gun ready.

The man, Charlie, glared at Sam for a moment longer before limping off the porch. He started walking towards Dean, and he gave him a wide birth, but the man hit his shoulder hard, telling Dean to get out of the way.

Dean rubbed his shoulder and shook his head, jumping up onto Sam's porch.

Sam raised an eyebrow at Dean as he approached, but said nothing. Dean stopped a foot or two away from the man of his dreams, staring without saying a word.

"Can I help you with something?" Sam hesitantly asked after a moment of awkward staring.

Dean shook himself and reached for his badge.

"Actually yes, you can. I'm Officer Dean Winchester-"

Sam made a choking noise and backed up.

"I wasn't doing anything with that guy," he said quickly, pulling his housecoat closed and folding his arms around himself. "To be honest, I don't even really know the guy-"

Dean chuckled and cut Sam off.

"Don't worry; I'm not here about that."

Sam moved his head back to study Dean with narrow, hazel eyes.

"You're not gonna say anything?"

"No," Dean shook his head. "I'm here to talk to you about your employer."

Sam sighed and sagged against the doorjamb.

"Yeah, sure, of course. Come on in." Sam waved to Dean, and he followed as Sam walked into a small sitting room.

Dean took one half of a sofa, while Sam draped himself across the other.

Sam studied Dean's flushed profile, smiling slightly.

"What do you need to know, Officer Winchester?"

"Dean."

"Officer Dean."

Dean sighed and leaned back into the corner of the sofa. He looked over at Sam's small smirk, and his throat clicked.

"Um, you work for a man named Adam James, correct?"

Sam's smirk grew. "Yes I do, Officer Dean."

Dean nodded.

"And you know that he is a suspected bootlegger?"

"He is a bootlegger, Officer."

Dean coughed and stared at the small coffee table in front of the sofa. He could feel Sam still looking at him. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his pants and focused on breathing.

"Aren't you supposed to be writing this stuff down, Officer Dean?"

Dean blinked, nearly jumped off the sofa as one of Sam's bare feet slowly moved up his thigh. The long foot slowly rubbed his knee, moving up inch by inch.

"And it's strange, Officer," Sam continued, spreading his legs to reveal his tight, bulging underwear. "Don't police usually arrest men like me on sight? It's curious that you won't say anything, since you're a cop. That makes me wonder," Sam paused, finally moving his foot to caress the hardness in Dean's pants, "if you're not homosexually as well."

Dean cried out softly when Sam touched him, throwing his head back and running his hand through his short hair. Sam chuckled deep in his throat, moving closer to his target.

"You like?" His voice had dipped so low, Dean could barely recognize it, but he nodded. His hips jerked up and he rubbed against Sam's foot.

It continued like that for a minute, Dean bucking while Sam rubbed. But the pressure suddenly disappeared and Dean growled. He turned to see Sam resting his head on his knees, looking at Dean with wide, innocent eyes.

Dean lunged and crashed into the singer, kissing him harshly. But it wasn't really a kiss; it was more like faces bouncing off one another. Dean moved back, left hand covering his mouth as Sam laughed at him.

"Please don't tell me this is the first time you've kissed someone."

Dean glowered at the man before moving, this time slowly, to press his lips against Sam's. As their lips moved against each other, Dean felt a bolt of electricity course through his body, making his heart beat faster and his breathing speed up.

Dean held Sam's face as lips parted under his, carding his hands through Sam's long hair. Dean had to pause for a moment, moving back slightly to gasp in a breath before plunging back in. All the while, Sam's long fingered hands had been running up and down Dean's sides, finally gripping his hips and dragging them down onto his own. Both men groaned as their lengths met matching hardness, both grinding roughly, seeking friction.

Dean moved back, watching the man under him, loving how lust clouded hazel eyes and swollen, moist lips formed a silent 'O' as he ground particularly hard. Dean found himself surprised at how swept up he was in this sudden, electrifying passion; loving how Sam flung his head back against the arm of the sofa, his hands roaming endlessly, grabbing at Dean's biceps and his blunt nails scratching Dean's clothed back.

With a growl, Dean pushed out of his coat and vest, moving back to slip his tie over his head, a thin string of saliva connect the men's lips. Dean throbbed, no longer caring about the fabric covering his body, choosing instead to rip apart his button-up shirt; buttons flew as the cloth parted and thrown to the side, revealing well-developed muscles and the odd scar. Dean heard Sam's breath stutter, and he only had a moment before he was pushed farther away and the housecoat joined his ruined shirt.

Dean watched as Sam stood and pushed down on his shoulders, forcing him to sink into the cushions of the comfortable sofa. He was able to take a moment to worship Sam's glorious body with his eyes, all lean, tanned muscle, before the singer dropped down onto his knees, rubbing his hands on the insides of Dean's thighs.

"You know," he mused, hands slowly undoing Dean's belt, "I've always wanted to be at the mercy of a strong, handsome, officer of the law." And with that, Dean's zipper was yanked down, and his member was standing proudly between his legs.

Sam chuckled deep in his throat, the fingers of his right hand curling around Dean, watching a pearl of pre-cum bead at the tip, while his left hand formed a claw, scratching Dean's fluttering stomach. The men locked eyes as Sam leaned forward, gently tapping Dean against his tongue before bringing the turgid length into his mouth.

Dean cried out, his voice ragged. The moist heat was almost too hard bare, he could feel the slow, simmering heat pooling in his lower stomach. But no matter how hard he tried, he could drag his gaze away from the brunette bobbing in his lap. Sam looked up the length of Dean's body, letting him see how Sam's wet lips stretched around his girth.

Dean moaned, blinking rapidly as sweat dripped into his eyes. He was beginning to think that his heart was beating in time to the loud, wet slurps as Sam took Dean deep into his throat. But, without warning, the wet heat disappeared with a pop as Sam grabbed Dean's hands and slowly stood him up, legs trembling.

Sam wrapped his arms around Dean's neck and pulled him in for a deep kiss, tongues sliding against each other and hands messaging. As he kissed Sam, he knew he was one stroke away from coming hard, splattering the gorgeous man in front of him with his seed.

It was Sam that pulled back, twining his fingers with Dean's as he slowly walked backward toward the shadowed hallway, eager smile playing on his lips.

"You've never done _this_ with another man, have you?"

Dean shook his head, wondering if he was just blatantly inexperienced or if Sam was somehow eerily in tune with him. But as it stood, that really didn't matter. This man had already showed him more passion than any woman ever had.

Dean was completely willing to risk jail time for Sam.

Sam was still looking over Dean when he shook his head and sighed.

"Don't know why I'm doing this," he muttered to himself. Dean quirked an eyebrow and stopped when Sam put a hand on his naked chest. The taller man held up a finger and quickly ducked into a dark room on their right. When he popped back into sight, he was holding a jar of what Dean thought looked like oil.

"What's that?" he asked nervously, swallowing thickly. Sam stared at him for a moment, face stoic.

"We'll need this in a bit," was his quiet, calm reply. They walked past a few more sets of closed doors before Sam stopped and pushed one open, motioning for Dean to walk through first.

Dean knew they were going into a bedroom, but he still lost his breath when his eyes rested on the large, four-poster bed, draped in blue velvet. He heard a clicking noise and fabric rustling. Suddenly, there was a naked and very warm organ pressed against his lower back, smearing wetness in its wake. Sam wrapped his arms around Dean's shoulders and slowly pushed him into the room. He let go and made his way over to the far wall, opening a cherry wood armoire. Sam bent over, unintentionally displaying his round, firm buttocks. But he stood up quickly, closing the doors with his elbows, hands full of rather large candles and the jar of oil.

"Mood lighting?" Dean asked hesitantly. Sam didn't pause to heed Dean question. He went straight to the night stands on either side of the bed, depositing two candles on each, lighting as he went. It wasn't until the room was washed in a warm glow that he set the oil down and sprawled on the bed, slowly stoking his length, that he answered.

"I'm a romantic."

Dean watched as Sam beckoned, still touching himself in a teasing way; loving that when Sam twisted his fist at the head, his nose twitched. Dean slowly made his way over, cock swaying in between his legs, watching as Sam's lust clouded eyes honed in on the movement. At the edge of the bed, Dean sat, content- for the moment- to watch the singer below him. He placed the tips of his fingers on Sam's clavicle, moving them inch by inch down his body; lightly brushing erect nipples, ghosting over fluttering stomach muscles, tracing the large vein on the underside of Sam's manhood.

Sam moaned, his head flung back, allowing for Dean to suck at a pulse point. Dean moved to cover the younger man with his body, groaning as their cocks lined up. Sam looked up at him, lightly touching Dean's face as he studied the older man.

"I think I want you inside me," he finally said, voice incredibly deep and rough.

"Kind of sudden, don't you think?" Dean replied, happy to draw out this absolutely delightful torture.

"Now," Sam growled, pushing Dean off of him and reaching for the oil.

Dean sputtered for a moment, unsure of what to do. Sam untwisted the cap of the jar and flung it into a corner. Dean watched in fascination as Sam lay back down and spread his legs, revealing to Dean his twitching hole. Sam coated his forefinger in the oil, reaching down to circle his opening before shoving the finger inside.

"I'm usually on top," Sam moaned, his eyebrows scrunched together. "Haven't been used in so long."

Dean could tear his eyes away from the finger thrusting in and out of his lover's body; he had to grab himself to stave off his orgasm.

"You know, if it hurts you too much, I don't mind being on the bottom." And Dean didn't, so long as Sam was the one he came with. No one else. Maybe for the rest of his life.

"No," Sam whined, now pushing in a second oily finger. "Want you throbbing inside of me, coming inside of me."

Dean swallowed; grabbing Sam's thrusting hand, he dragging it away from the tanned body. Dean could help but groan when he saw the stretched, twitching opening, grabbing the oil and coating his own fingers.

Thinking it would be alright, he pushed in his first two fingers; Sam's response was instantaneous. He screamed, his body bowing and writhing. He grabbed the back of his thighs, bringing them up to his chest, opening himself up for Dean. The older man paused before thrusting his fingers, feeling Sam's inner walls clamp down on the digits. He knew he wouldn't last very long after he buried himself in there.

Not knowing if it was the right thing to do, Dean opened his fingers on a scissoring action; Sam groaned in obvious pain. Dean quickly tried to remove his fingers, as if they were being burned, but Sam's voice stilled him.

"It'll be okay. Just one more finger and I'll be okay."

Dean nodded and slipped in a third oily finger; Sam moaned, his eyes fused shut. Dean thrust his fingers, dragging them against Sam's walls harder, hoping to bring back his pleasure. Dean frowned and tried to pull away his fingers when he felt something squishy, but Sam screamed and writhed. Dean looked between his buried fingers and Sam's open eyes.

He caressed the squishy spot. Sam screamed again, followed by a stream of incoherent curses. Dean smiled.

He continued his ministrations, making sure to hit that spot every time, but Sam screamed for him to stop.

"In! I want you in- _now_- before I cum!"

Dean paused before pulling out his fingers and sticking his whole hand in the jar and coating his throbbing length. He slowly lined himself up with Sam's opening as he stared at the singer. After a few minutes of staring, the man under him narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to say something.

Dean went balls deep in one thrust.

Sam's eyes widened and his mouth became a slack 'O' as he yelled in pleasure. Dean made a choked noise as Sam clamped down on him. It was bad enough when the heat and tightness had Dean on the edge. He waited for Sam to loosen and stop screaming before he moved, but even then it was only a small thrust, barely moving.

"On come on," Sam panted, moving to rest the soles of his feet on Dean shoulders, "I won't break if you're rough."

Dean closed his eyes, struggling to regain his breath. "You won't, but _I_ might."

They stayed unmoving until Dean managed, ever so slightly, to calm down. Dean looked down at the man under him, who was watching him right back. Not breaking eye contact, Dean kissed Sam's right ankle and thrust. Sam closed his eyes, breath hissing out.

Dean thrust again, grabbing Sam's length and tugging as he rubbed Sam's sweet spot. Dean knew he was very close as he tried to speed up Sam's release. The singer moaned and whined as he impaled himself on Dean, and then thrust up into his calloused hand. Dean leaned down to capture Sam's lips.

Tongues slide over the other and bodies thrust as each man hurtled toward release.

"Harder," Sam panted and Dean complied.

They both stared into each other's eyes, feeling their hearts racing to the same beat. Dean didn't know what it meant. The gorgeous man under his was a moaning, writing pile goo as he thrust into him. He wanted nothing more than to stay right where he was; buried balls deep in the man Dean was beginning to believe he loved.

Sam gave a particularly loud moan as he bit his bottom lip. Warm liquid covered Dean's hand and chest as Sam whined, his body going tense. Sam clamped down, _hard_, and Dean spilled into the younger man.

Dean sighed and flopped down onto Sam, feeling sweaty arms around him. Moments passed like this, with Dean not moving.

"Um, did you die?"

Dean laughed.

...

"Did you really come here to ask about Adam, or having you been stalking me and finally couldn't take it?"

Dean laughed, turning to kiss Sam's palm.

"I don't really know. Seeing you up on stage turned me stupid. I lost all rational thought."

Sam clicked his tongue and nestled farther into Dean's neck, despite how sweaty Dean was. Dean rested the side of his head on Sam's and eagerly began playing footsy.

A quiet moment passed as Sam tightened his arms around Dean and half rolled on top of him.

"I want you to stay here, Dean."

Dean closed his eyes, wanting nothing more than to say yes and die a happy little death in that bed every single night, but he shook his head.

"I can't. You know I can't."

Sam shot up quickly and opened his mouth to tell Dean off, but Dean steam-rolled on.

"What do you think will happen if your neighbors get suspicious?"

"Fuck the neighbors; this has nothing to do with-"

Dean shook his head.

"It has everything to do with them. Two men living together? _Alone_?"

Sam's mouth tightened and he turned away, but not before Dean saw the moisture there. He scooted forward and wrapped his arms around Sam.

"You have no idea how much I want to stay," he finally said.

Sam sniffled wetly.

"We can say you're my brother or cousin or something. It doesn't have to end like this."

Dean paused.

"We can try that for a while. But I don't know how long it will last before suspicion sets in. I mean, you screaming yourself hoarse every night? I would wonder."

That got a laugh. Sam leaned back and shook his head.

"I might be able to help you get Adam."

"And how's that?" Dean asked kissing a line across Sam's broad shoulder.

"We can go tonight, and I can show you the back entrance to his office behind the stage."

Dean moved back to study Sam's serious face.

"What will you do if I did arrest Adam?"

Sam snorted and waved a hand down his naked body.

"With this? I can get any job I want."

They laughed together, pausing only to kiss.

…

As the two men stood backstage, Sam worried his bottom lip as Dean took out his gun and checked the bullets. Dean hid it inside his jacket and looked over to his lover. He rubbed the upper half of Sam's crossed arms soothingly.

"It'll be okay, Sam. I swear."

Sam chuckled bitterly and looked away, toward the band that was setting up; the same band, Dean realized, that had played with Sam the other night.

"Go get something to drink, and try not to worry about me so much," Dean smiled slightly trying to catch Sam's beautiful hazel eyes. "I can take care of myself."

Sam glared at him.

"What happens if you die, Dean? Hmm?" Sam shook his head, brunette hair flying. "I pretty sure I'm in love with you, so how am I supposed to cope if you…" He had to stop, his voice cracking with every other word.

Dean took the singer's face in both hands and kissed him soundly. Dean tried to put all his feelings into the kiss; the amazement he felt when he first saw Sam, the surprising amount of love he had toward the man, and the hope he had for their future. He moved away, Sam trying to pull him back. Dean shook his head, running his hands through Sam's long hair one last time. He gently pushed Sam toward the hidden main room where he could hear drunken shouts.

Sam sighed and walked away, leaving Dean alone with the band. Ducking behind a velvet curtain, Dean quickly made his way to the other side of the stage. Following Sam's instructions, Dean ran his fingers along the wall feeling the tear in the paper. He gripped the edge and swung the door open easily, revealing a flight of stairs. Looking to make sure the band wasn't watching him, Dean closed the door and turned toward the stairs. He could faintly heard footsteps from above.

As he slowly made his way up the stairs, he took out his gun, the balanced weight easing his nerves. Back at Sam's house, he had lied, saying he wasn't at all nervous about the arrest; he had done this plenty of times, this would more routine than anything else. But as he neared the second floor landing, his legs began to tremble under his weight, and his breathing sped up.

From what he could see, the landing was sparse, empty. No guards and certainly no Adam. Dean straightened, holding the gun stiffly at his side. He stepped out into the hallway a studied the closed doors on either side; Adam could be behind any one. Dean slowly made his way down the hall, opening doors leading to empty rooms as he went.

He hopes began to die as he moved forward. Maybe Sam had guessed wrong. It was a very distinct possibility that Adam wasn't even there. But despite his growing doubt, he opened the final door on his left. His eyes widened.

Adam looked up from a piece of paper and smiled amicably at Dean. He brushed back his dark blonde hair and stood.

"I was wondering when you would get here, Officer," he said, fingers resting on his desk. The men stared at each other for a moment.

"Please come in. I would be a terrible host if-"

Dean had managed to shake himself out of his stupor. He raised his gun and pointed it at the bootlegger

"Adam James, you're under arrest for the distribution of alco-" Adam laughed deeply and sat back down.

"Officer Winchester, I have no intention of going to jail." He chuckled again and picked up his piece of paper.

Dean breathed, his gun still raised.

"You don't have any guards in my way, Adam. We're alone."

"And so is Sam."

Dean paused before asking what Adam meant. The man didn't even look up from his paper when he answered.

"Sam is alone down in the main room, yes?" Dean's arms fell limply to his sides. Adam took that moment to look up and laugh at Dean broken expression.

"Oh, you were expecting me to be oblivious to that, weren't you? Sorry to disappoint." Adam folded his hands on his desk as Dean looked down, almost as if he could see Sam through the floor boards.

Adam sighed and stood, coming around the side of his desk and leaning against it.

"I've had men following Sam since he began working for me. Just as a protective measure, of course, in case he felt like gossiping with the wrong people."

Dean leaned back into the wall behind him, needing support.

"What will you do with him?"

Adam acted as if he didn't hear the question.

"So you must imagine my surprise when a cop walks into my fine, upstanding establishment and follows my only singer home. I had heard that the cops were closing in, so I expected an all out war. But, no. The cop goes to my singer's house to be ravaged."

Adam chuckles and shakes his head.

"The irony; an officer of the law, engaging in unlawful acts. Life is a funny thing, Mr. Winchester."

"What are you going to do to Sam?" Dean repeats desperately, trying to calculate if he had time to get to Sam before Adam's men.

"But don't worry," Adam says, once again ignoring Dean, "I'm willing to cut you a deal."

Dean looks up and studies the smiling man in front of him.

"A deal?"

Adam laughs and nods.

"Yes, precisely! If you go to your station very soon and say I ran with my tail between my legs, you can have your precious Sam for the rest of your life."

Dean rubbed his eyes, tucking the gun back into his jacket.

"The precinct already thinks you might have left," Dean sighed. He saw Adam raise an eyebrow.

"Is that so?"

Dean just nods. Adam drums his fingers against his desk,

"What if I _did_ leave the city?"

Dean shrugged. "The case would go to the office of your new city."

Adam suddenly laughed and clapped his hands. He stood straight and walked behind his desk.

"In an act of pure kindness," he said, ruffling through his desk, "you can walk out of here with Sam. I won't bother you." Dean choked back a sob and went to turn and run out, but Adam's voice called him back.

Dean turned to see Adam training a gun on him, smile still in place.

"To be polite, where do you want it?"

…

Dean watched as Sam, flushed and smiling, finished his last song and disappeared backstage. Dean smiled slightly, running his thumb along the lip of his glass. A hand brushed his back as Sam sat close to his side, hiding their kiss from the group of drunken dancers behind them.

"Did you enjoy the show?"

Dean chuckled, caressing Sam's sweaty face.

"I always do."

Sam smiled and kissed him again, deeply. Dean turned into the kiss, wincing at the painful twinge in his shoulder. Sam pulled back with a frown, rubbing the sore spot gently.

It had been more than five months since Dean retired from the force. Sam had been inconsolable at the time, thinking it was the drugs that were making Dean blather. Captain Singer had to pull Sam aside and explain.

Adam James, Dean learned not long after being hospitalized, left Chicago with a bang. After shooting Dean in the left shoulder, he apparently just picked up and got out. There were rumors that he had relocated to New York, but Dean new better. In fact, Dean was sitting in Adam's club at that moment, drinking Adam's whisky.

Sam looked over Dean nervously, knowing that Dean still, and would always, have brief moments of pain from the healed bullet wound. Dean shrugged and stood, twining his fingers with Sam's as he walked toward the door.

"Let's go home, Sammy."

Sam smiled and waved goodbye to the guard by the door as they passed. Dean walked close by Sam as the dark crowded around them.

"Just so you know," Sam whispered, "I refilled the oil."

Dean found himself blushing, before bursting into laughter that was swallowed by the night as the lovers walked home.

Fin


End file.
